Liminal Morning #1
Shower. Teeth. Strong coffee.
There is a familiar mixture of hope and dispair and anxiety and lust (completely theoretical now, I went back to Effexor 150 XRs) . . . somewhere in my chest. Cliche would have me write "wound around my heart" but even at my purplest moments I'm beyond that now; its not in my stomach or any other part of my digestive tract because I know where they are. If I palpate my chest like an old man with angina I can trace a meniscus-shaped bowl of tension somewhere in between; is there something associated with dispair and hope and your diaphragm? That makes no sense . . . .
People who know me have heard my rant on this so I won't burden you with it, but my head is trying to get my attention and its poking me in the belly to do it (my guts for violin strings and plucked by my limbic system -- now that's the ugliest metaphor I've ever read).
OK, I'm starting to hear protests from, erm, wherever that is. Maybe a piece of toast?
There is a familiar mixture of hope and dispair and anxiety and lust (completely theoretical now, I went back to Effexor 150 XRs) . . . somewhere in my chest. Cliche would have me write "wound around my heart" but even at my purplest moments I'm beyond that now; its not in my stomach or any other part of my digestive tract because I know where they are. If I palpate my chest like an old man with angina I can trace a meniscus-shaped bowl of tension somewhere in between; is there something associated with dispair and hope and your diaphragm? That makes no sense . . . .
People who know me have heard my rant on this so I won't burden you with it, but my head is trying to get my attention and its poking me in the belly to do it (my guts for violin strings and plucked by my limbic system -- now that's the ugliest metaphor I've ever read).
OK, I'm starting to hear protests from, erm, wherever that is. Maybe a piece of toast?